


That One Night at the Inn

by Brass_Buckles



Series: Uth'shiral [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Sex, Sexual Content, Side Story, Smut, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-12 11:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brass_Buckles/pseuds/Brass_Buckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas agrees to share that bed at the inn with Lavellan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Night at the Inn

**Author's Note:**

> Meant to be read after Chapter 36 of Endless Journey and before Chapter 37.
> 
> Smutty and NSFW. You've been warned. If such things bother you, please do not read it. If you prefer Endless Journey as a smut-free story, then please appreciate that this is stand-alone so that you can skip it.
> 
> I cannot promise this is quality writing in any way, shape, or form.

The two of them had sat silently for what seemed like an hour, although Uth'shiral was sure it was the pain of the moment that made it seem long. The moon had barely moved in the sky when Solas spoke again. It shone brightly through the window, reflecting on the ocean below it. They barely needed the tiny candle that glowed between them. Uth'shiral preferred the softer light of the moon, but since Solas had lit the taper, she did not extinguish it.

“I have duties, but I have seen you hurting. I have no wish to cause you further pain. I warned you it would be kinder in the long run if I did not pursue you. Letting you go was... is... more difficult than I anticipated. I am no stranger to pain, but I have no wish to inflict it upon someone I hold so dear. The closer we become, the longer we prolong this...”

She couldn't stand to see him hurting so much, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do. If she let him go, that would hurt him, too. Maybe it would be the kinder option for him; she had no idea what his plans were. But he didn't want to let go, and neither did she.

“You're slipping away from me, and I don't like it,” Uth'shiral admitted to him. “It makes me want to pull you closer, so I can keep you safe from whatever horror you're trying to face on your own. I'm not blind, Solas. I know you still love me. You're so torn... I want to help. If I can't help, at least indulge me until we have to part. And then... if you can't make your way back, I will move on with my life. I was on my way to doing so after the funeral for my clan. Even if some of them hadn't survived, I could have picked myself up. I may only be mortal, but I don't break easily, Fen'harel. You know that.” She wanted to reach for him; she started to, but she let her hand fall back to the table before she did. He was not hers to keep. No matter her feelings, no matter what words she used, he had already decided.

“Yes. If you die before I return... or if I cannot return...” She followed him with her gaze as he pushed from the table, stood, and strode to her side in two steps. “You'll _**always**_ be remembered warmly.” He reached a hand to her with a gentle smile, and she took it without even thinking about it—not even considering at first what it meant until his smile brightened, his even white teeth glinting in the light of the moon. The candle flickered out.

He pulled her to his chest, crushing her tightly against him. It felt like a desperate gesture; she wondered if he realized his own desperation. She tilted her face up to meet his and murmured against his lips as he kissed her. “Ar lath ma, Fen'harel.”

“Ar lath ma, Uth'shiral,” he responded, punctuating his declaration with another kiss, lightly brushing his lips against hers. His embrace loosened, but only to allow his hands to wander along her back, one lingering on her buttock, holding her close against his body as the other crept beneath the hem of her blouse to caress the bare skin beneath, his touch as deft as it was confident. Chills shivered through her at every brush of his fingertips. He spoke an urgent murmur to her in ancient Elvhen even as he pressed another kiss to her throat; it was too quickly spoken for her to comprehend with the distraction of his touch and his lips—something about sleep, and alone, and... He murmured more words in Elvhen, and she could recognize the desire in them as his lips tingled against her throat and his breath tickled her ear.

Her eyes shut with pleasure as his lips met hers again, his tongue slipping between her parted lips to meet hers. They separated only when they needed to breathe, their eyes meeting in an intense gaze. She didn't know when she had drawn her arms around him, but she held him as closely as he held her. Playfully, she gave his behind a quick squeeze, and he responded by dropping one of his own hands to her upper leg, fingers curling to tease at her inner thigh. She could feel his increasing arousal against her even through the long flap of his tunic; she couldn't help but think he wanted her to be aware of it.

A tiny part of Uth'shiral wondered just what she was doing and screamed at her to stop; this was the Dread Wolf. She should not have invited him, however tacitly, to share her bed. But the Dread Wolf was Solas, and she had wanted this with Solas for far too long. Dread Wolf or not, she would have him. She grasped his wrist, tugging him gently in the direction of the bed.

She had never seen anyone look at her the way he did just before he followed her toward the bed. His expression was as adoring as if she had been a goddess. She smiled back at him, hoping he could read her emotions in her eyes somehow, hoping she was somehow conveying just how much she loved him.

He stopped them before they reached the bed, and began to unfasten the window, allowing the brisk sea breeze to enter. It did not smell so much of fish at night; she could catch the scent of the sea more strongly than the fish. “I remember,” he said in the common tongue, stepping back in front of her, “that you once said you enjoyed the feel of the breeze at night.” His forehead rested against hers for a moment, then he stepped back. At first she believed that he was refusing to go any further, but her alarm and embarrassment faded as she realized he was disrobing, quickly and neatly setting his sweater, his amulet, and his trousers aside.

Lavellan knew the sea breeze was chilly, but it felt good against the heat of her skin as she admired Solas. He was magnificent, with his trim, athletic shape, his upright posture, his broad shoulders and slender hips. He watched her as she stared wide-eyed at him, his lips quirking into a playful half-grin. “The breeze is certainly cool tonight,” he observed casually, as if he were not standing completely nude, outlined beautifully by the moonlight. “It is understandable why you hesitate to disrobe, given the circumstances. If that is your concern, I assure you that I can help you become warm again.” He paused for emphasis. “ _Very_ warm.”

She wanted to let him continue, wanted to be as free as he was and to eliminate the distance between them. She braced herself against his scrutiny, dropping her clothes and smallclothes to the ground without ceremony—if she took her time, she feared she would lose her nerve no matter how much she wanted this. Solas's eyes feasted on her nude form before him—all of its scars and imperfections bare to him. Her self-consciousness took hold, and she abruptly shrunk in on herself, trying to cover her body. What could he possibly see in a waifish little elf like Uth'shiral? What had she been thinking? He was Fen'harel, he was surely used to--

He crossed the distance between them and pulled her close again.

“Vhenan, no... You are _beautiful_ ,” the Dread Wolf told her, then murmured onward in Elvhen. Praises, perhaps, or promises of what was to come. His fingers caressed her arms gently, until she at last draped them around him instead of trying to hide herself. “I could sing great ballads about the way the light dances in your eyes, on your hair,” he whispered. “or I could paint a thousand frescoes over a thousand years, attempting to create only one that could capture you in this moment. Even if I did, I could never recreate just how remarkable, how lovely, you are to me.”

He began freeing her hair from its braids, pin by pin, as effortlessly as if he had been the one to bind it atop her head in the first place, and she recognized that he was giving her time to relax, to accept that he accepted her as she was—a slender waif of an elf with perhaps half of his mass. But unbraiding her hair did not take long, and soon he was combing through it with the fingers of one hand, while the other had slipped back to her buttock, holding her close against the heat of his shaft.

His lips wandered, trailing urgent kisses from her own lips down her throat with teasing nibbles of his teeth, to her shoulders, and then lingering on her breasts, pulling at her nipples. The hand he combed through her hair forgot its purpose and joined his lips in playing with her breasts, his lips on one, his fingers on the other. Chill bumps rose along her flesh at each touch of lips or fingertips, and she forgot to be shy and self-conscious as his lips and fingers burnt against her flesh. He was playing her body as easily as a bard might play a lute, and she loved it. She cradled the back of his head with one hand as he sucked at her breast and dared to reach for his shaft with the other, stroking and testing the feel of him in her palm.

“Careful, Vhenan...” Solas murmured against her chest. “The Dread Wolf might take you.” His kisses made their way back from her breasts to her lips, and she nibbled at his full lower lip, teasing him.

The husky tone of her own voice surprised her as she responded. “If the look in his eyes is any indication, I'd say it's more of a certainty now.”

“Only if you allow it,” Fen'harel said, his caress gliding up her back, sending little shivers of pleasure in his wake. She wondered if it were purely his touch, or if he were amplifying the sensation with magic somehow. She was not so naïve as to think he was inexperienced in the bedroom, and perhaps he had employed his skill in magic to that purpose, as well.

He guided her toward the bed without further preamble, settling beside her on the edge with his bare torso turned to hers. She realized he was giving her a little more time—time to think this through, time to relax, to enjoy simply being together. He was visibly ready for much more than that. “You know, don't you?” she asked, looking at him questioningly.

“I am unable to do more than guess, but you seem inexperienced in matters of sex,” Solas answered, tracing the line of her arm with one finger. “I would prefer otherwise. I have no desire to cause you pain in this...” It was his turn to hesitate, even though his hands continued to stroke her body. She leaned into his touches, attempting with her own uncertain touches to give him similar sensations.

“You won't, at least I don't think so... A nasty fall off a runaway hart years ago prevented that from being any problem. I broke my wrist, as well.” Her hands left Solas's torso as she rubbed at the back of her neck, uncomfortable with the admission. “I... there isn't much privacy in a Dalish camp. I definitely know the basics, I just... Well... what do you like?”

“More than one young woman has been similarly fated,” the Dread Wolf replied. “My heart, you could never be a problem to me. Here,” he took her palm in his and pressed it over his heart, and she could feel his pulse quicken beneath the touch of her hand. “Almost anything we do shall be enough for me. Tonight is for you.”

Emboldened by knowing her touches were getting a reaction, she stood and straddled his legs, bringing the heat of her entrance tantalizingly close to the heat of his erection. He gasped, then chuckled with delighted surprise at her sudden motion, his arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling and to keep her close to him. She slipped a hand between them, caressing his length, teasing him so that he gasped, swaying his hips. His grip on her tightened involuntarily and he let out a soft moan, and visibly struggled to regain control over his body's reaction to her touch.

“Not yet,” Fen'harel said, shaking his head with a smile as he pulled her with him into a reclining position atop the bed. His fingers traced from her breasts to her belly, then crept lower still, one of them curling just beside the damp heat of her opening. His lips pressed against hers, his tongue met hers, but the kiss was brief and moved onward, nibbling against her flesh teasingly as he moved once again to her breasts. Shivers of pleasure coursed through her. The finger slid inside of her, and he drew it out again, slowly.

She gasped with startled pleasure and rocked her hips to encourage the pleasant friction as he pressed the finger back in, joined with another, stretching her, and she needed to hold onto him, needed his body next to hers, needed—oh Creators he was giving her enough already, too much, and she moved against his palm and the press of his fingers and she wanted to give him something back and she could not stand another moment of this it was too much it was pure pleasure and her back arched as she sought more and--

A shudder of pure bliss rolled through her body. She had no idea which of his names she cried out into the night, but Solas seemed delighted with it, chuckling with pleasure as his face raised up from her chest, a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips as he gazed into her eyes. Those eyes held as much love for her as they did desire, and their lips connected again. He was not yet done with her. She panted for breath, slick with sweat, as he stroked her body, her hips, her breasts, her belly, desire rising rapidly again. She moved to press against him, but they were already flesh-to-flesh, and caressed his body, grinning to herself in triumph when she managed to elicit chills and tiny moans of pleasure. The sound of his excitement and the feel of him hard against her thigh encouraged her. She ran a hand down his chest all the way to his length, testing it, feeling its heat as she held it between her thighs, grinding against him.

He shifted to hold the weight of his torso off of her, then smiled a playfully feral grin down at her. “Letting the Dread Wolf in, then?” he teased.

“Yes,” she murmured breathlessly, “let him take me if he will.”

She guided his tip to her opening, arching herself against him. His hands pressed her knees further apart, and he thrust his hips with no further warning. She gasped as he penetrated her; it was both new to her and familiar in a primal way. She wanted nothing but to move against his length and encourage the tight shivery pleasure he was giving her, to be together with him, to encourage him, to drive him deeper into her, to find that shivering sweating heated bliss he had given her with his fingers again and share it with him. The chill sea breeze was all but forgotten. Her hips swayed as she instinctively tried to capture his rhythm, to bring her body more pleasure but he stayed still, teasing her. She writhed beneath him eagerly.

“Mmm,” Solas answered, his eyes half-lidded. He nipped at her throat playfully. “Tonight is for you,” he reminded her in a murmur, then broke into a long string of Elvhen words spoken too fast for her to translate as he distracted her by pressing further into her, easing into long, gentle thrusts, threatening to break into something wilder, more passionate, with the least of encouragement. Uth'shiral _**wanted**_ that; his pace was slow, gentle agony that caused her desire to burn away inside her.

Her hips rolled with him, and her legs locked around him as he dragged them further onto the bed, matching her rhythm, their hands exploring one another's curves and angles, grasping and clinging and guiding and encouraging. They were one. She no longer knew who was touching or kissing whom or where. Sometimes, she thought he was on top of her; others, he had pulled them upright and she straddled his hips, eagerly accepting his length as it was thrust in and pulled out again. This was the way it should be, simply _together_ and not caring about minor details like where they were or who could hear their exertions.

Solas's eyes burned intensely as he moaned and grunted his pleasure with every thrust, his weight forgotten in the heat and the contact and the sense that their connection was being reforged and strengthened this night. Her own moans and cries echoed his; either of them might have been uttering words, but she could not hear the sense in them. The only thing that made sense was the two of them, flesh to flesh, joined together.

It was too much. They were too much. The Dread Wolf was on top of her again, pressing deep, and she shivered with each movement, each touch. She felt herself gripping him inside of her as he thrust in time with her, but he didn't stop. He pressed a hand between them, teasing her even as he thrust faster, harder, prolonging the sensation until she wasn't sure she could take any more. It was eternity in bliss; it was the blessing of the Creators; it was going to last forever. Her arms gripped him tightly, fingers digging into his back. And then it subsided, and she panted, loosening her grip as he continued to move inside of her, still fiercely, sending twinges of pleasure back into her. He started to pull away, but her legs were still locked around him as she indulged in the pleasure of his movements. “Uth'shiral,” he murmured, urgently, and she moved harder with him.

“Uth'shiral, please, I...” He gripped her tighter, her tender breasts crushed against him as he lost control at last. “Uth'shiral! Vhenan!” he cried out. The liquid heat of his seed spilled into her, blending with her own inner heat as his body shuddered against hers. His expression was blissful as she ground against him, encouraging his climax and hoping for another of her own that failed to arrive. And then they were done, and she realized as the chill air cooled her sweat and drew her attention to the window that the moon had barely moved in the sky since they began. What had felt like eternity had taken an hour, give or take.

They both lay still, their bodies still connected, panting, flushed and cooling rapidly in the night breeze. Lavellan reached up and took his ear between two fingers, playfully, and he panted and chuckled at her jest as he rolled to the side limp and spent, pulling her against him into an intimate cuddle. She giggled for a moment at his reaction, surprised he'd understood her joke, and her fingers released their hold. Something about his embrace and the expression in his eyes made her feel more important than any number of nobles fawning over the mighty Inquisitor for favor.

“Ir abelas, Vhenan,” Solas murmured. “I should have pulled away. I tried to ask...” He stroked her hair, smoothing at her tangles. He smiled gently at her, and she smiled back, teasingly stroking the smooth dome of his head in an echo of his tender ministrations to her hair. Lavellan mused that he must not be terribly concerned. He probably knew certain spells—the Dalish did, as well.

“It's fine, Fen'harel. The worst that can happen is a child, and Clan Lavellan would welcome it.” It was, after all, her duty to produce little mage children. If she had one by mistake with Solas, well... was that a terrible thing?

“The risk of that is small, but if it were to happen, your illness from the Anchor might make pregnancy go poorly,” Fen'harel warned her softly. “I might not be present to help you with raising a child, should we have one. If you wish to be safe... I have no fresh witherstalk available, but I can cast a preventative spell if you like.”

“The risk is small. I'm not concerned,” Lavellan replied, nuzzling against him contentedly. She did not admit she knew at least two similar spells of her own. The breeze was cold, but the Dread Wolf was wonderfully warm against her. She was too comfortable, too relaxed to worry about casting spells. He was right that it might not be the best of times to risk a pregnancy, even if it was her duty and even if the idea of having Solas's child was not at all repellant. Perhaps in the morning... For now she didn't want to interrupt the contentment of their afterglow.

“Pulling away will not deny me pleasure,” Solas told her. “Still, we shall do as you choose. The chances are low, as I said. It may be better to decide in the morning, when we are more rested and less blissful,” he concluded, echoing her own thoughts. His expression changed to a sly grin. “I am curious what you will do with the _rather intimate_ knowledge you have gained tonight,” he mused aloud, a hand trailing from her belly to her inner thighs, stroking and teasing her casually. “We both need rest, but if we are to play the part of newlyweds for the inn's staff, perhaps we could indulge ourselves again, once we catch our breath.”

The combination of his words and his touch had an immediate effect on Uth'shiral. “Yes. May the Dread Wolf take me, _**yes,**_ ” she answered.

**Author's Note:**

> WHY am I even sharing this? This is so embarrassing...
> 
> I feel like I should explain this, though: I headcanon that ancient/immortal elves aren't very fertile, compared to modern, shemlen elves. Solas worries because "unlikely" or "difficult" doesn't mean "impossible"--and of course he's right about that much. He brought up his concern at an awkward time (I don't think I conveyed quite how awkward Lavellan was feeling about having pregnancy/babies brought up right after they just had sex). I thought it fit with how the relationship goes--Lavellan kind of catches him off guard, and he acts without taking time to think things through until after the fact.
> 
> Basically the "unlikely" thing has more to do with Solas being immortal/ancient and less to do with Lavellan being inexperienced. Because I think he would know better than to assume that would stop pregnancy from happening.
> 
> After Trespasser, Solas's belated concern carries a bit more nuance. Originally it was just meant that he was afraid he'd unintentionally endangered Lavellan, but I can't say I mind the additional worries that are surely there when you have played Trespasser.


End file.
